


Undone

by WonderWonderBats



Category: Ella Enchanted - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Drugs, F/F, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mildly Dubious Consent, Narcissism, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Triggers, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 12,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderWonderBats/pseuds/WonderWonderBats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>my oldest work--written during a very difficult personal period in my life. three years old, the story is three chapters away from being finished. i will finish it, as soon as i get the courage to pick up the work again. </p><p>--hattie self-harms, denies what she feels for ella, and spirals downward. ladies and gentlemen, she is coming undone.--</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

She had a box full of them. A big box; a Prada shoe box that was black and discreet and oh-so perfect. She hid it under her bed, under the cover of old clothes that she refused to wear any longer. No one knew about it; and that was the way she hoped it would stay. The thought of anyone finding out was atrocious. So, she always locked her door, she always made sure to check the box, to make sure that no one had disturbed its peace.

And so far, no one had.

Not her mother--who wasn't really nosy at all, just curious.

Not her younger sister--who really was a snoop.

And not her…no, no, never her…,

She was much too busy with him, and her friends.

But then again, Hattie was busy, too.

She was seventeen, and goddamnit she was going to further her social life. She had friends, and boys who would kill to get into her panties. She didn't need her.

~*~

Hattie went out that night, black, designer purse in hand, the contents of her box stored inside. She never knew when she might need them; life was just so unpredictable! Unpredictable or not, she strolled down the dark street, her destination clear. Her "best" friend, Blossom's house. Blossom was having a party that night, and Hattie had seriously considered not going…after all, she would be there with him….but, no. Hattie couldn't afford to let her social life suffer.

Blossom's house--which was a mansion, like Hattie's--was bright and noisy, even from outside. No inheritance money for her….

Hattie rounded the curb, and stepped onto Blossom's front lawn. As soon as her three-inch heels hit the damp grass, she felt fine. Not anxious, but calm. Social gatherings tended to do that for her. The front door opened before she could even put her hand on the shiny gold doorknob. Blossom was there, bottle of Grey Goose in her hand.

"Hattie! You came!"

She was positively gushing (with drunkenness)!

"Yeah," Hattie smirked, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She just wanted inside, so that she could get shitfaced, and forget about things for a while. Blossom noticed, and stepped aside, allowing her in.

The music was positively blaring; enough to rupture and eardrum. The couch and chairs in the living room were full of drunk, horny teenagers; groping and lip-locking and fucking…Jesus, she certainly hadn't counted on attending an orgy. And really, she wasn't in the mood to fuck with anyone, much less watch other people do it. Seriously, she--

Oh.

Hattie froze mid-step, her body seeming to lock up; robbing her of movement. There she was…curled up in his lap…lips on his…hand down his pants…no, no, no, no, no, NO!

Her stomach heaved; she felt nauseas and angry and confused and--

She sprinted out of there as fast as her high-heels could take her. The bathroom; that was the only thing on her mind.

Once she got there--and trust her, Blossom's bathroom was far to nice of a place to vomit or shit--she dropped to her knees, pulled her bag open, and rummaged inside for the remedy.

Ah! There it was!

A silver handled, silver bladed pocked pocketknife. One of the many other knives hidden in the box beneath her bed. There was a switchblade in there, and a kitchen knife, a variety of multi-colored pocketknives….

She felt like a collector; most people collected stamps, Hattie collected knives.

Choking back sobs (because Hattie was raised to keep her emotions contained), Hattie rolled up the long sleeves of her dress, and took a deep breath. There were hardly any scars on her arms; she paid attention to other, less noticeable parts of her body. Insides of her thighs, stomach…discreet places that were easy to hide.

She let herself fall back against the door, and closed her eyes. She pressed the cold, silver blade to her forearm, and dug the fuck in.

Blood drained out from the wound…fresh and tantalizing…and Hattie made the mistake of allowing herself to think…she never allowed herself to think about what stressed her out when she did this. It made it difficult to…stop. She'd let herself go too far once, and her legs had become…mutilated. It was…awful. She still had the scars, and they were visible, but no one ever brought attention to it, and boys were far too busy with what was between her legs to worry about scars.

But now…all she could think about was Ella…and not the wonderful fantasies that made her wet, no, the realities swam through her head…Ella was the reason she started this--the reason for all of her doubts and insecurities…

The blade dug deeper into her skin, and she brought it slowly downward; carving a path of self-destruction.

And then she began to count in her head, as she always did; to keep careful track of how many marks she made, how many cuts…

1\. Ella kissing Char…

2\. Ella's hand down his pants…

3\. The sight of Ella coming to thoughts of him…

4\. The sound of his name on Ella's perfect lips…

5\. The way he wrapped his arm around her waist…

6\. --

Hattie gasped; loudly, a searing pain was shooting through her right arm.

"Oh, fuck…" she mumbled, dropping the bloodied knife onto the plush white carpet.

"Motherfucker…" she hissed, grabbing a (white) towel, she wrapped it around her arm. It bled through immediately.

"Oh, god, no…" she whimpered, her arm still stinging and bleeding profusely. She had probably ruined everything. Her cover of perfect calm and collectedness…that perfect mask of sanity that had just now slipped right off her face…

It amazed her; really, it did, that she had allowed Ella--her much loathed stepsister, to drive her to do such things. But…Ella was…no. Hattie pushed the thoughts aside. She wrapped the towel securely around her arm, shoved the knife back in her purse, and hastily rolled down the sleeve of her dress. Everyone was either drunk or having sex--she could get out without anyone seeing, right? She thought so.

Hattie opened the bathroom door, and cautiously stepped out. She sighed in relief when she made it to the front door--

\--just in time to hear Ella come. The sound of "Char, yes! I love you!" reverberated against the walls…in her head…

And the fresh cuts on her arm began to sting again.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

With the towel still wrapped securely around her arm, Hattie rushed away from Blossom's manor, eager to get home…to trace over old wounds…

The pain that was ravaging her arm was dulled now, but blood still dripped down her arm regardless. She should have been worried; what if her mother or sister or stepfather was awake and downstairs? What would they say if she came home with a cut-up arm? She didn't want to find out.

Worse still, was Ella's voice--the sight of an orgasmic flush gracing her cheeks--the sights and the sounds kept replaying in Hattie's head. She tried to shake it off, but that was to no avail. Her mind was determined to be a little masochistic fucker, and she was not okay with that.

"He is such an asshole," she mumbled to herself. Great--she was talking to herself now? Lovely; that's the next step into total insanity.

"Stupid, insipid, completely gauche…" and to think, she used to have a total crush on him.

But that was forever ago; before Ella, and when Charmont had been a piece of meat; good-looking, rich--the Prime Minister's son. Now, he was nothing more than an insolent prick.

"Annoying son of a bitch," she went on, gripping her left arm tighter still. The towel and the sleeve of her dress were probably ruined now. But for once in her life, Hattie didn't give a shit about clothes. No, it was Ella that was occupying her mind. And she hated admitting it.

It was useless to deny it; how many times had she woken up in the middle of the night, Ella on the brain, and wet panties clinging pathetically to her hips? How many times had she thought of Ella while she touched herself? Too many to count.

And yet she still committed herself to denying it; and her denial was reflected in the scars that lined her body.

Hattie rounded the corner, and stepped onto her family's property. Her manor stood before her now, comforting and promising reprieve. She wanted nothing more than to run inside, dash upstairs, and throw herself on her bed. But, that would have to wait. She had to clean up first. The blood had begun to dry, and the (white) towel was soaked in her denial and desperation. How poetic…

She took a step--the heel of her shoes almost hitting the damp grass, when--

"Hattie!" It was Ella. She ambled towards Hattie, skirt rumpled, blouse wrinkled, and long, jet-black hair tangled. Hattie had to look away; she didn't want to see her, and to think about what caused her unkemptness. That would only make her want to drag a blade across her wrists….

Hattie vehemently shook her head.

"I'm surprised you left the party without shagging Stephen," Ella said, cocking an eyebrow. Hattie whipped around, hoping--praying to God, that Ella wouldn't notice her arm--

"I…felt ill." Hattie said, crossing her fingers, and hoping that her voice hadn't cracked, that her smirk hadn't faltered….

"Ill? I didn't see you drink anything." Ella probed. Hattie sighed; she was exasperated, and her arm was stinging again.

"Ella, please…"

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"ELLA!"

Hattie clutched her arm harder, and glared at Ella, blue eyes glittering with suppressed tears, face red with rage and embarrassment…panties damp with arousal.

She was alone with Ella--completely alone….

"Hattie--ugh. Fine. Move, I'm going inside."

But Hattie didn't move. She stood between Ella and the door, panting slightly, and clutching her arm so tight it hurt.

"Hattie, move."

"No," Hattie let her arm drop--the towel fell onto the grass, and the streetlamps shone on it just so, and Ella was able to see the bright red blood on the stark white towel…

"Hattie! What the fuck!" Ella hissed, glancing from the towel to Hattie's arm frantically.

"Ella, please…"

"What did you do?"

"Ella! Stop asking questions! Just shut up! Shut up!"

And Hattie hated herself in that moment; the moment when she lunged forward, mutilated arm reaching our and wrapping around Ella's waits--the moment when her lips pressed against Ella's. It felt good; like kissing the lips of a fucking goddess…

But there was no reciprocation. Ella just stood there. Apparently allowing Hattie to get everything out of her system…

"Why do you do this to me…?" Hattie breathed, lips brushing against Ella's; savoring the taste and the sensations…

"I'm not doing anything."

Hattie pulled away; "Of course not! You never do anything, do you?" Hattie was in hysterics. Ella had seen her arm…she had bluntly rejected her advances…what else could possibly be worse?

"Fucking perfect Ella, right? The martyr, always the martyr! With her bitch of a stepsister!" Hattie gestured to herself towards the end of her sentence.

"Hattie--"

"Hush, Ella, goddammit!"

Hattie turned away, and picked the towel up off the ground. "I'm going to bed. Don't bother me."

And Ella watched; she watched, stunned, while Hattie walked inside, closing the heavy front door behind her with a soft slam.


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

The living room was dark. Empty, exempt of all "family" entities. Hattie was grateful. She didn't feel like lying anymore than absolutely necessary tonight. She trudged up the stairs, feeling weak and dizzy, and desperate for a glass of water, but not quite feeling up to the risk. What if Mandy, the cook, and Ella's godmother, was in there? No, Hattie did not want to risk it. Mandy never liked Hattie and her family, but she would still fuss over an injured arm.

So, Hattie continued up the spiral staircase, feeling, really, like shit. She wanted nothing more than to just lie down….

Her bedroom door was in front of her now, and she opened it quickly, shutting it and locking it behind her in the same deft fashion. Her room was cold; and her arm was stinging again.

"Oh, God…" she sank to the floor, dropping to her knees, feeling rejected and ashamed and embarrassed and--

"I--box…where is my box?" Talking to herself again…

Hattie launched herself towards her bed, landing on her stomach at the foot of the bed. She groped for it--clawing at the carpet beneath her hands…

And then she felt it--the cold, cardboard of her lifeline…her cure…

She pulled the box out, sat up, and placed it in her lap. Taking the lid off, and tossing it aside, she gasped with pleasure when she saw the sharp, shining blades….

Not thinking twice, Hattie sat the box aside, and slipped her dress off, wincing when the tight fabric rubbed roughly over her left arm. Her legs--adorned with scars--were about to be revisited by the sharp cut of Hattie's desolation.

She took a switchblade, popped the blade, and pressed it to her left leg--

over a barely healed wound. It re-opened, draining crimson liquid. Hattie hissed; the room seemed to tilt--

everything was suddenly out-of-focus--

she was slowly slipping away--

as the blade dug deeper and deeper into her flesh--

as it slid down further and further--

she lost complete control--

the blade moved from her leg to her left wrist--

it dug in--

oh, god--

this was it--

what she had been wanting to do for months now--

it was all so wonderful--

there was no pain--

and--

\--Everything went black then.


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

Somewhere, there were noises. Voices--one was syrupy--feminine, Hattie thought. Another was deep--masculine--and one…one carried, and was feminine and high and wonderful and--

"Did you know about this?" The syrupy one.

"I just found out tonight! I had no idea!" The wonderful one.

"Olga, love, it's not Ella's fault." The deep one.

"Shut up, Peter! Are you even looking at her!? She tried to kill herself! Did you see the scars the doctors found? Huh? Did you even pay a little fucking attention to her?!"

Hattie wished her mother would shut up…she was trying to pretend to still be unconscious…

"She's awake…" Ella suddenly said, rushing to her bedside, guilt propelling her, rather than genuine concern and caring.

"Hattie? Are you awake? Can you hear me?"

The cat was out of the bag…

"Y-yes…" Jesus, her throat was dry…

Hattie opened her eyes, and hissed and closed them again when the bright-white hospital lights hanging overhead shone right into her eyes.

"Oh, Hattie!" Olga rushed towards her, pushing Ella roughly aside.

"What did--why did you?"

"Not now, Mama, please…" Hattie turned away from her, pulling the thin hospital blanket over her head. She felt Olga sit down on the bed beside her. "Hattie, honey…"

"No. And get her out of here." She was obviously referring to Ella.

"Of course…Hattie, if it wasn't for me, you'd be dead. Oh, but that's what you wanted, right?"

Hattie couldn't take anymore. She felt her sanity snap.

"Oh, right! Because I'm a fucking rich snob! Right? A bitch, a whore--yeah, I've heard it all before! People like me don't have any real problems, do they? No, no, of course not. Fuck off, Ella! Just--go away!"

All of this was muffled. She was shouting into her pillow, but she knew that had Ella heard it. She heard her footsteps advance towards the door, and then she heard it slam shut.

~*~

Hospital food tastes like shit.

Hattie sat up in bed, flipping through channels on TV, eating Jell-O, and picking at a cold grilled cheese sandwich. It tasted horrible; but she fought it down; the nurse had her on every "watch" possible, regardless of the fact that she was 5'8 and a perfectly healthy 128lbs. Whatever…

"Hattie," it was Olga. Her mother had been ignoring her ever since her little outburst. Peter and Ella had left, and for once, Hattie yearned for their presence. Being alone with her mother, given the current circumstances, was not at all ideal.

"Yes, Mama?" Hattie looked up at her innocently.

"The doctor…she said that…that you should see a therapist."

A fucking therapist!? Hattie couldn't believe her ears.

"Mama, I-I don't think that's really necessary, I--"

"Hattie, you tried to kill yourself," the words rolled off her tongue reluctantly. Hattie could sense her defensiveness and denial.

"Mama, it's so much more complicated than that--"

"And that's why you're going to see a therapist."

Hattie didn't want to explain her self-harming tendencies to some stranger who was just out to profit from her problems. And she definitely didn't want to explain her complex attraction to Ella, her stepsister.

"Mama, please, I don't need--"

"You're going!" Olga's abrupt shriek made Hattie flinch away from her.

"Mama…"

"No! No more, Hattie! No more excuses!" With a final, withering glance at her daughter, Olga left her, slamming the door as she went.


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

"And how does that make you feel?"

What. The. Fuck.

How the hell did she think it made her feel?

 

Oh, my father was an alcoholic who died in a car accident when I was thirteen.

Really? And how does that make you feel?

How the fuck do you think it makes me feel?

Hattie had enough with her therapist. Midway through the first session, Dr. Edith had already driven her up the wall.

"There's no need for language like that, Hattie." Dr. Edith said, eyeing Hattie with inappropriately parental eyes.

"Please, don't lecture me. I would like to go home now."

"No, we still have thirty minutes left for this session. And you still haven't told me why you hurt yourself."

Hattie couldn't tell her. She was perfectly fine in her state of blissful denial; why the hell did this bitch have to go and try to ruin it for her?

"I didn't--"

"Have you seen the bandages on your wrists? The scars on your legs? Your stomach? Your arms? You've been doing this for a while, it seems. Why?"

"I've only been doing it for six months--!"

Hattie could have swallowed her tongue. Admitting that…no…

"Six months? And hasn't your mother been married to Mr. Frell for six months?"

 

Oh, shit…

"What does that matter? That means nothing."

"Do your self-harming tendencies have anything to do with your stepfather? Has he hurt you…in any way?"

Peter? No, he was a dick, but he wouldn't dare touch her.

"No, he hasn't done anything to me…"

"Really? Then does it have something to do with your stepsister, Ella?"

 

X marks the spot, doc.

"Ella is insufferable." Hattie stated simply, returning to her usual manner of calm collectedness. Her haughtiness had returned, and she felt ten times more important than the bitch of a doctor sitting in front of her.

"That may be, but Hattie, that doesn't explain why you cut yourself."

Hattie didn't appreciate hearing the phrase "cut you."

"Hattie, if you don't open up to me, then I can't help you."

"I don't require your help."

"If you didn't need my help, then you wouldn't have tried to kill yourself. Now, stop trying to act all cold and self-centered. Right now, you probably want to fall apart and cry like a child."

 

Fuck. You.

"That's not true. Right now, I would very much like to go home."

"No. Twenty minutes left."

Hattie said nothing. She simply decided to wait the rest of the session out.

"Are you attracted to Ella?"

"W-what?"

"Well, it's normal for teenagers--"

Hattie glowered at her.

"--people, in general, to seek a self-destructive outlet to manage their confusion and stress. Some people use alcohol, or drugs, sometime even sex. And then some people are cutters."

She was just so fucking blunt.

"Isn't that just a little bit black and white?"

"No, well, unless you'd rather me say that you only took a blade to your wrists for attention."

"It's not that simple!" Hattie had lost it again; that perfect mask of sanity was slipping right off…

"It's not that simple? I think we're finally getting somewhere, Hattie. Do go on."

"She's--Ella, she's…"

"She's what?"

"I--she's…" No one had ever seen Hattie so broken and disorientated before. She was known for her haughty nature, her self-centeredness, her calm, collected demeanor. But now? Now, tears were falling down her cheeks, and her face was flushed faintly red.

"I can't do this today." Hattie said, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. She grabbed her purse and her jacket from the back of the chair, and stormed off, letting the fucking door slam.


	6. Chapter 6

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

The air at home was decidedly hostile. Hattie felt suffocated; she wanted to leave, but her mother had made it quite clear that she was not allowed to leave the house; except to go see Dr. Edith. So, Hattie decided to suck it up. She sought out her bedroom; door locked, though her knives had been confiscated. She had nothing to dull the "confusion" and the "stress," as Dr. Edith had put it. She settled with sitting down morosely on her bed, reading through an issue of Cosmo from four months ago. She read half-heartedly about how to give better blowjobs, and about underwater sex positions…

"Hattie?"

Until she interrupted her quiet reading time.

Ella stood in the doorway, dressed in her usual pajamas that Charmont loved; green cotton short-shorts, and a green tank top. It made her eyes hurt, looking at her…

"What do you want, Ella? Didn't I make it quite clear at the hospital the other day that I wanted you to--"

Ella cut her off, that perfect voice low and dangerous; "--fuck off? Yes, Hattie, I heard you loud and clear."

Hattie scoffed; was she for real?

"If you heard me loud and clear, then why the hell are you here?"

"If you must know, I came to see how your therapy session went. Because, hey, I care about my suicidal stepsister. Just a little bit, yeah."

Hattie just shook her head, tossing the magazine aside. "Please, don't bullshit me."

"Have you ever considered cleaning your mouth out with soap?"

At this, Hattie laughed. She really laughed. She fell back onto the bed, face buried in her pillow, grasping fistfuls of the blanket beneath her. She cackled, laughed so hard that her stomach hurt. And she felt like it would never end. She felt high; giddy, happy, for the first time in six months, and all because Ella criticized her filthy language. Then she remembered; so suddenly, Dr. Edith's words replayed in her head;

Some people use alcohol, or drugs, sometimes even sex…

And she couldn't be a cutter anymore, now, could she? Knives confiscated, parents and even her little sister watching her like fucking hawks…she really had no other alternative…and it would be what she had always wanted…what she'd wanted for six months…it would be a quick-fix…until she could sneak one of Peter's razor blades…

"You know, Ella," Hattie began, giggles still escaping her. "we haven't talked about our…kiss."

Ella cocked an eyebrow, just like she had on that night.

"Kiss? And what exactly are you referring to?"

"Oh, that's right, you rejected me. Well, you see, Ella," Hattie slid off the bed, sauntering towards Ella, and reaching around her to close and lock the door.

"Your rejection," Hattie rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, "caused me to do this." She held up her arms; her writs were bandaged with thick, white hospital dressings.

"Are you serious? You can't blame me for this!" Ella grasped Hattie's left wrist, holding it firmly in her grasp. And then they locked eyes; and not in the romance movie bullshit kind of way where you look into a person's eyes, and fall madly in love.

No.

Bright green locked with icy blue, and Hattie decided to put an end to the fucking sexual tension once and for all.

Hattie kissed her; lips pressing against Ella's hard, savagely, because loving kisses and all that other romantic nonsense was just not appealing to Hattie at the moment. Her teeth grazed Ella's lips, making the younger girl whimper; so fucking fantastic, Hattie thought, smirking against Ella's lips.

But suddenly, Ella pulled away, gripping both of Hattie's wrists so hard that her hold was a vice.

"I am not doing this with you. I am in love with Char. Not. You." That should have felt like a slap in the face; the rejection should have crippled her again, brought her to her knees…but it didn't.

No, not this time. Because Hattie had power now, the power of guilt.

"Oh, but Ella! How would Charmont feel--what would he think, if he knew what you made your poor stepsister do?" She wriggled her wrists, desperate to be free from Ella's grasp, but patient, as Ella's face had twisted into a grimace.

"I didn't make you do anything! You took that fucking knife to your wrists! I didn't make you! You know that I hate you and your family! I don't want anything to do with you!" Ella shouted, and the shouts reverberated against the walls, making Hattie flinch; Ella's nails dug into her wrists, nearly piercing barely healed wounds…

"You owe me this much, Ella!"

Hattie freed her hands, and with them, she grasped Ella's hips, and pinned her against the door; she hit it with a loud bang. Hattie wondered, frantically, if anyone had heard…but they did have rather thick walls…how many times had Hattie moaned Ella's name into the darkness, coming violently in the process? Too fucking many to count.

Her lips were on Ella's again; urgent and self-centered…Hattie couldn't care less about Ella's pleasure, only her own. She didn't care if Ella wanted it, only that she got what she wanted…the pleasure that would carry her peacefully through the night, make things bearable until she could get another blade…

Ella didn't pull away this time, but she didn't respond, either. Her arms did wrap around Hattie's neck, and she did shiver…

Not wanting to deal with useless foreplay, Hattie pulled Ella's shorts down her hips, letting them slide down her legs, and bunch up around her ankles. Ella groaned, bucking her hips, and swearing under her breath.

"Hattie, stop…please…"

"No."

Hattie pulled Ella's thong down, reveling in her exposure. She pulled away, put Ella still clung to her, shivering and swearing and gasping. Hattie's fingers brushed against Ella's opening, neglecting teasing; neglecting the steps of getting her excited…she just wanted to feel her…to feel inside of her…

Her fingers slipped inside; two of them, but there was barely any wetness, no arousal…

"Mmph, Hattie--!" Ella bucked her hips into Hattie's hand, eager to get things over with, to leave Hattie's room and never look back…

"Stop it!" Ella hissed; each thrust of Hattie's fingers sent waves of pain through her; she didn't want this…this was wrong…

"No! You owe me this!"

It was a blur--

Ella pulled Hattie's fingers out of her, and gripped her shoulders, pushing her down onto the floor, and she landed on top of her desperate stepsister, ignoring the groan of pain Hattie made when she made contact with the floor so roughly.

"You want me to fuck you?" Ella said, her voice cold and high--God, her voice fucking carried!

"Yes," Hattie breathed, bucking her hips, wet and desperate and insane with desire.

"I hate you."

With that, Ella pulled Hattie's skirt off her, pulled her shirt off, and that damn lacy, purple Victoria's Secret bra that just made her tits look so fucking amazing…the thought made Ella shake her head vehemently; no, she loathed the girl who was panting beneath her, hated her with everything she had.

Ella pulled Hattie's panties down her hips, trying to resist reveling in how wet she was…Ella shook her head again, and decided to end things quickly, to give Hattie what she wanted, and leave her--forever, hopefully.

Ella brushed her fingers against Hattie's clit; "Ella."

She slipped her fingers inside; "You owe me this."

Thrust three fingers inside her roughly; "You're the reason why I have so many scars."

Kissed her, thrust into her harder, curling her fingers; "I've wanted this for so long."

Again; in, and out, as rough as she could manage, ruthless, savage…curled, uncurled, stretched, harder…; "Fuck, yes, Ella!"


	7. Chapter 7

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

Her heart was pounding so violently in her chest that it hurt. She could barely breathe, and her body was still tingling with pleasure. But Ella was gone. She'd dressed, and left as soon as Hattie had come. It was all so disappointing…

Hattie got up off the floor; she needed…her medicine. Peter had straight razors; silver, sharp little fuckers that would cut her so deeply…

She needed them. Fuck therapy, and fuck her family and their "watches."

Suddenly, the sex with Ella seemed very far away, like it was just another one of her dreams. She felt weightless and lightheaded on her way to the bathroom, when she opened the medicine cabinet (the irony was not lost to her), and when she touched the razor…

"Papa's dead? Mama, he's dead?"

"You're worthless, all of you."

"I'm sorry your mother had you."

"I hate you. I don't want anything to do with you."

"He's dead."

Hattie slipped off the side of the sink, landing on her side, razor in hand, blood draining from her right arm. Her father? That was odd. She hadn't thought of him in years. Oh, she felt faint again…she couldn't afford to pass out…to land herself in the hospital for a second time…

But the darkness was coming on fast, and Hattie just wanted to jump in.


	8. Chapter 8

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

She felt warm. Lightheaded still, but she was conscious. Aware of things. She could feel the uncomfortable tiles of the bathroom floor beneath her; her face pressing against the carpet. She felt the straight razor in her left hand, and the stinging in her right arm. She had passed out. If only briefly, but still. She had taken such a big risk…But at least she hadn't been caught. She deserved a gold fucking medal for this. Sitting up (and struggling not to fall right back down), Hattie glanced up at the wall behind her, and the small wall clock declared the time to be 1:24 A.M… What time had she come home? Eight? And at what time did she go into the bathroom? Eleven? So only two hours and twenty-four minutes….her body never ceased to amaze her. She glanced down at her arm, and realized that it was not loss of blood that had made her so dizzy. She had only managed to cut herself once; sure, it had bled quite a bit, but it was nothing life-threatening. Then she remembered.

Her father.

How long had it been since she'd thought about him?

She hadn't since her fucking therapy session with Dr. Edith.

It hadn't done her any good, it only dug up old, unwelcome memories.

Hattie gripped the razor tight in her hand, and stood up, gripping the side of the sink for support. And she made the mistake of looking at herself in the mirror; clothes wrinkled, left arm cut open, hair tangled and a complete mess…ugh.

She turned away from her reflection in disgust, and turned her attention to the small droplets of blood on the bathroom floor. The previously pristine white tiles were dotted with red; how the fuck was she going to clean that up discreetly?

"Goddamn floor," Hattie mumbled, turning around, and leaning against the side of the sink. She looked at her arm, and sighed. Bandage…she rummaged around in the medicine cabinet, and found a roll of very official-looking medical bandages, much like the ones that were on her wrists. She wrapped some around her arm, and rolled her sleeve down. Now all that she had left was the floor…

And then she suddenly remembered; she had another appointment with Dr. Edith today.

"Not that bitch…not today…" she mumbled, and suddenly, she wanted to take a blade to her wrists again. Just to get back at Dr. Edith for thinking that she'd made any sort of difference. Because she hadn't. She'd only made things so much worse. Bringing back memories of her father (and she used that term fucking loosely) was not part of Hattie's recovery. It was a road block.

But oh no, Dr. Edith had insisted on hearing all about Hattie's sordid family life, how fucked up her father was and how passive and silent her mother was. How she'd had her first sip of vodka when she was twelve; from her daddy's secret stash; the cupboard that was locked…(too bad she'd found the key). There were so many things that she'd been forced to come clean about; how she really started hitting the vodka when she was fifteen, and how many guys had fucked her in the backseat of their car before school…

But she refused to talk about Ella, or the self-harming habits. No. That was just too fucking personal. The other shit was public; her feelings towards Ella and her cutting was all private.

And Hattie wanted to keep it that way.

Knock, knock.

Hattie jumped; she had been knocked so forcibly out of her dark reverie.

"Hattie? Hattie, is that you? Why are you awake now?"

It was her mother.

And there was still blood on the bathroom floor.

And a bloody razor blade in her hand.


	9. Chapter 9

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

The panic wasn't as strong as Hattie thought it would be. No, she felt reasonably calm. The bathroom door was locked; all she had to do was talk to her mother from behind the door, and hope that she didn't ask her to open it.

"Oh, Mama, I just--I just felt sick. That's all." Hattie was surprised that she was able to manage casualty while talking to Olga. The incident at the hospital had seemed to rob them of their good graces towards one another.

"Are you alright?"

"I am now."

"How was your appointment with Dr. Edith?"

Of course she would bring that up.

"It…it was fine."

"You remember that you have to go back today, yes?"

"I remember."

Was she really going to get away with this? Hattie almost couldn't believe her luck. But then again, Hattie assumed that her mother suspected that she had found Peter's straight razor, and was probably putting all of her energy into denying it.

"Well, goodnight then, Hattie." And Hattie heard her mother walk away; and was relieved and could finally breathe properly again. The razor was still clasped tightly in her hand, and with a rush of pain and fear, she realized that it had dug into her palm. A gash was there now; people would see that! She knew she had to stop; give it a rest for a while, but it was…that was…it was a compulsion now; a have-to, not really a want-to. But then again, it had never been a want-to. Hattie wasn't a masochist; if anything, she was much more of a sadist. But ever since Ella entered her life, it had been a have-to, a need-to. And once again, Dr. Edith's words echoed in her head:

Alcohol, drugs, sex…

She had choices…things that would work until it was safe to seek out another razor, or her precious box. But which one would she choose?

Drugs?

No, anything worth getting would take too much time and effort to score.

Sex?

Sure, that would be easy. Fucking was a talent of Hattie's; blowjob queen, perfect on top, and hell, she could even get girls off effortlessly. Yes…that would work…at school….on Monday…

And then there was alcohol.

Which, really, she'd already been hitting rather hard, especially Grey Goose. It was the fucking alcohol of her family; how many bottles had her father drained? Hadn't her mother lined them all up once? In the living room? She faintly remembered seeing dozens of the icy bottles, with the picture of the ocean and the seagulls and the French flag. She remembered her father going on about "how fucking smooth" it was…and Hattie believed it. It was amazing; but unlike her father, Hattie wasn't a violent drunk. A slutty drunk, yes, but not at all a violent one.

So she had decided.

Sex would be her daytime drug, and alcohol would be her sleep aid. She felt lightheaded again; free, almost, because now, she had addictions to fall back on, compulsions that would be there for her when her skin could take no more abuse.

She had options, and that was enough to get her through another session with Dr. Edith.


	10. Chapter 10

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

With her hand bandaged and her clothes and hair fixed, Hattie crept downstairs, her mouth dry with thirst. She was exhausted, but she knew that she wouldn't get any fucking zzz's until she had some sort of numbing fixation.

Thankfully, the living room and the kitchen were empty; quiet and sullen, the perfect atmosphere for late night drinking, Hattie thought. She wasn't sure, actually, if there would be any alcohol in the house at all; her mother had a firm stance against it (which was understandable), but Peter liked to hit the sauce. And no, the irony was not at all lost to Hattie.

Once in the kitchen, she found her way towards the old liquor cabinet, the one that was always locked, but recently, that lock had been absent. And of course, because fate obviously wanted to be nice to her, that lock was absent yet again. So, Hattie opened the cabinet, smirking as she did so, and that smirk became a grin when she saw the rows of scotch, brandy, whiskey, wine…and vodka. And it was Grey Goose. She could never quite get over how traditional the thing seemed to be; it was like the drink of her family, as she said before. It was from France; Hattie was French on her mother's side (British on her father's). Her father (and at one point, her mother) had favored it, and for fuck's sake, the bottle was pretty.

Without thinking twice, Hattie grabbed two bottles, and headed back upstairs, feeling calmer already. She locked her bedroom door, and sank to her knees, not even bothering to amble towards her bed. She popped open a bottle, and drank deeply. The faint sweetness and lemony-aftertaste rested on her tongue, and it was fucking smooth. And a sense of ease washed over her; she felt sleepy, and yet wide awake, and she felt like things were okay…

Hattie took another drink.

The lemon-aftertaste was weighing heavy on her tongue now.

Another.

More sweet than lemon now.

More.

One bottle down.

She opened the other.

This shit can get you drunk easy.

Down it goes.

Her eyes closed.

Last sip.

She dropped to her side, and fell asleep on the floor.


	11. Chapter 11

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

"And how does that make you feel?"

 

Motherfucking déjà vu.

She was back. Sitting on the leather couch in Dr. Edith's commodious office, being questioned and questioned by the bitch, and yet nothing about her mentality was changing.

"You know what? Could you please stop asking me how shit makes me feel?"

The look on Dr. Edith's face was priceless. It was torn between amusement and outrage.

"No, I'm afraid I cannot stop asking you how shit makes you feel. Because if I stop asking you, then I'll never know how things are affecting you."

Hattie scoffed.

"You know, Hattie, this is only your second session, but I still feel that you should have made more progress by now. I know nothing about you."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

Dr. Edith placed a slender finger on the lens of her glasses, and considered Hattie's inquiry for what seemed like hours.

"I want to know why you cut yourself. It's that simple, Hattie. I can't help you unless you give me answers."

It was a fucking ultimatum.

Hattie stared at her, eyes alight with resentment.

"That's private."

"This session is private, Hattie. No one will know but you and I."

"Bullshit."

"Do you always swear gratuitously when you feel cornered?"

Bitch

Dr. Edith scribbled on the notepad in her hand. The sound of her fountain pen scratching on the cheap memo paper was unnerving.

"What are you writing?"

"Well, now, Hattie, that's private."Honestly

"You're not helping me."

"I'm trying. You won't let me in. I want to get inside your mind, you know. The mind of a very troubled seventeen-year-old girl."

"I'm afraid I don't want you inside my mind, doctor."

"Then I can't help you."

"We're wasting our time."

"No, Hattie, I'm afraid you're wasting mine."Who the hell does she think she is?

Hattie crossed and uncrossed her legs nervously; she did feel cornered.

"I will only ask you one last time. Why. Do. You. Cut. Yourself."

Hattie was silent; the words, the answers, wanted to burst from her lips. She wanted help…no, no, she didn't need help…ugh!

"It's because of Ella! Alright! There!"

"And what is your relationship with Ella?"

Dr. Edith was poised to scribble down more notes.

"She's…she's just my stepsister, whom I hate. You already know that much."

"But surely your relationship has to be deeper than that."

Hattie stammered; she blushed, she blanched…

"Are you attracted to Ella?"

"Yes."

"And does she not return your feelings?"

"No, she does not."

"And--"

"--how does that make me feel? Pathetic."

"Your father was an alcoholic, yes?"

"He was."

"And he frequently abused you and your mother, but not your younger sister, correct?"

"Correct."

"Why do you think your sister was absent from his rage?"

"She was Papa's favorite." Hattie smirked bitterly, and leaned forward; ready to tell a seemingly very lengthy tale.

"Papa always loved Olive so much. She was his little princess. And what was I? His little whore. He never thought that I would amount to anything. He's better off dead."

"That's quite the confession."

Hattie was silent. Dr. Edith nodded, and scribbled down more notes.

"I think we've made quite a bit of progress here today, Hattie."


	12. Chapter 12

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

It was Monday. School. Hattie had dreaded the say since Saturday; how much did people know? Gossip spread like fucking wild fire at Hattie's high school. So she lay in bed for an hour after she first woke up; at four a.m.. She stared up at the ceiling, contemplating her addiction for the day. Alcohol was out; and so was cutting. So she only had one option left for the weekdays; sex. She smiled to herself; surely sex would be enough to get her mind off things? Hattie considered calling Stephen, her on-again-off-again boyfriend of a year, and requesting that he pick her up in his Mercedes, and have fun in the backseat. But honestly, Stephen didn't seem appealing to her. She still only wanted Ella. So, she sat up, grabbed her cell phone from off the bedside table, and dialed Blossom's number.

~*~

Blossom's bright red Porsche pulled up in Hattie's driveway at six a.m., right on the dot. Blossom always had a habit of being very punctual; especially when she was promised a good fuck in the backseat of her car.

"You're always so on time," Hattie said, throwing her bag on the floor beneath the passenger's seat.

"Well, think of what you promised me." Blossom said, smirking, and watching Hattie with a lustful gaze as she sat beside her in the passenger's seat, bag in her lap.

"Drive; you know where to go." Hattie commanded, and Blossom obeyed without hesitation.

They drove until they reached the parking lot of an empty house; the house had been emptied for years; dead ivy clung to the walls, and the lawn was seriously overgrown. But it was the perfect spot for before-school sex. Hattie and Stephen had frequently used it, and now her and Blossom were taking advantage.

"We haven't done this in so long," Blossom said, watching as Hattie slid over into the backseat.

"You always used to come to me for consolation whenever you were having problems with Stephen…I've missed you."

Hattie always hated it when Blossom got all sentimental and shit. It made the "fuck buddy" principal so much more complicated. She would have gone to Delicia, who loathed Hattie's existence (because Blossom was in love with Hattie…ooh, teenaged one-sided love triangles!), but she was always up for hate sex. But she hadn't answered her phone, and Hattie didn't feel like playing games, nor did she have the time for them. So she was stuck with loving, needy Blossom.

And she supposed that would just have to do.

Within seconds, Blossom had joined her in the backseat, and her lips were already seeking Hattie's with an overwhelming fervor. Hattie reciprocated, closing her eyes, and pretending that Blossom was Ella. This was one of the reasons why she hadn't chosen Stephen; she couldn't pretend with him. But with Blossom? She could very easily. Blossom even looked a bit like Ella, though her eyes were hazel, while Ella's were bright green. And okay, Blossom's hair was more brown than Ella's, who had radiant jet-black locks. But beggars (addicts) can't be choosers, so Hattie just had to settle.

Hattie didn't allow Blossom to undress her. Regardless of how "close" the two seemed, Hattie still didn't want her to know about the scars. So Blossom simply slid her hand up Hattie's skirt, fingertips tracing over her thighs…teasingly brushing against her heated center…

Hattie closed her eyes and let her head fall back; she pictured Ella, and pretended that it was her hand up her skirt, her free hand fondling her breasts…it took all of her willpower to keep herself from moaning Ella's name…to keep herself from screaming for Ella when her walls tightened around Blossom's deft fingers…

"Oh, my God, Hattie," Blossom panted, kissing the pulse point on Hattie's neck. "You are so amazing…so fucking sexy…" Blossom whispered, wrapping her arms around Hattie's neck, kissing her lips softly. Hattie pulled away; "Get off me. We'll be late." Blossom jumped back up to the front seat, panting, and readjusting her jeans.

"Thanks, Blossom."

"Anytime!"

And then Hattie's imaginary-Ella stepped on the gas.


	13. Chapter 13

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

The straight razor felt like it weighed a ton. It was hidden, in the very bottom of her schoolbag, kept out of sight; to be used later, when she decided that taking the chance and cutting herself again was worth it. If another round of meaningless sex didn't work…

Her and Blossom pulled up into the school's parking lot, and Hattie felt a tight knot of apprehension form in her stomach. She held her bag close to her, and took a deep breath, unlocking the passenger side door.

"Hattie--"

"No, Blossom, not now. I have to get to class."

And she rushed off; literally, rushed off, like a gazelle. Clinging to her schoolbag, she ignored copious "hellos" and "hey, Hattie"'s. No, those didn't stop her. What stopped her was Ella and Charmont.

Charmont had her pressed up against a wall, hands around her waist, lips moving against hers hungrily and savagely.

And Ella seemed to like it; her eyes were closed, her hands were gripping fistfuls of his shirt….

She ran; as fast and as far as her high-heels would take her…just like she had at Blossom's party…it was déjà vu…again, and again, and again….

"Delicia," Hattie grabbed her arm, and pulled her away from her locker, dragging her to the girls' restroom…desperate for numbness…for release…for an addiction….

"My, my, Hattie, has Stephen lost his touch?" Delicia whispered into her ear, pinning her against a sink.

"Shut up. Just fuck me. I need it. Now. Be as ruthless and rough as you can--" Delicia's lips silenced her.

"Have I ever not been rough with you?" She kissed her again; teeth grazing her lips. Suddenly, Delicia's fingers tugged at the waist of Hattie's skirt; she pulled it down before Hattie would protest. And when she saw the scars, Delicia did nothing but smirk, and laugh.

"Does Ella not return your feelings?"

And then Hattie wanted to vomit. Because really, how the fuck did Delicia know?!

"Do you enjoy pain, Hattie?"

"Delicia--"

"God, I hate you. You're such a bitch."

This time, Hattie couldn't pretend that Delicia was Ella. Because Delicia did a wonderful job of reminding her that Ella will never, ever want you…

she has Char…

and who do you have? Stephen?

He fucked me at Blossom's party when you were in the bathroom taking a blade to your wrists.

Ella loathes you, just like everyone else.

Hattie fumbled for the straight razor; she wasn't thinking anymore; she was just acting. She was fucking coming undone, and who the fuck was there to help her? No one. Who the fuck was there for her? No one. She ripped off the bandages on her left wrist, and tossed them aside. And then--

The blade pressed into barely healed flesh--

Yes--

Blood flowed--

Useless--

She was breaking--

Coming undone--

Dizzy--

Pass out--

Who would find her?--

Who could care?--

The last thing she saw was the crimson red trail dripping down her wrist and onto the restroom floor.

She didn't hear the ambulance; nor did she feel the EMT place her on a stretcher. All she could hear and see were her own fucked-up memories; playing over and over and over and over again in her head.


	14. Chapter 14

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

Like last time there were voices all around her, but also a rhythmic beeping, and a very familiar, annoyed voice buzzing in her ear.

"You should have watched her! This is what I was worried about!"

"You can't expect us to follow her around every day!"

"You're her family!"

Hattie wished that whoever was beside her would shut the fuck up. They were giving her a headache.

"Let's all just calm down," ooh, a new voice! This one was very authoritative; the kind of voice that went a long way in an OR. Hattie supposed that it was her doctor.

"Olga, please, go wait outside. Dr. Edith wants to speak with Hattie privately when she wakes up." Despite the causality of her words, her tone was threatening. Hattie had never before met anyone who dared to threaten her mother.

"Thanks, Daria. There's no way in hell I would be able to properly converse with Hattie with her here."

Wait…Daria? Hattie's physician was named Ivi. Why the sudden change, and why wasn't she notified? Were people not going to tell her anything anymore? Were they afraid that she'd snap at the tiniest thing?

Hattie stirred involuntarily. Her muscles twitched from anger.

"She's awake," Daria said, glancing anxiously at her. "Don't push the issue of Char and Ella. Char says he thinks they're what set her off this time."

Dr. Edith scoffed, but cleared her throat to mask it.

Hattie heard Daria leave, and she immediately wished to be unconscious again.

"Come off it, Hattie, I know you're awake." Dr. Edith moved to sit on the side of Hattie's bed. "I need to talk to you."

"Can't you just let me rest?"

"Ah! There we go!"

Hattie groaned, and threw a pillow at Dr. Edith, who moved out of the way, letting the plush object land noiselessly on the floor.

"I can have you tried for aggravated assault." Dr. Edith jeered.

"Since when have you been so cheery?" Hattie asked, turning over to face the doctor, who wore an expression of suppressed amusement.

"Enough talk about my mood. I want to talk about you…and why you tried to kill yourself again."

Something about the doctor's tone irked Hattie. She sounded annoyed almost as if Hattie's suicide attempt was just a colossal waste of time, rather than a very serious issue.

"I don't want to talk to you about anything. Please, go away." Hattie hated having to fucking pled; why couldn't people just--

"You're driving me insane, Hattie."

Excuse me? I'm driving her insane?

"You see, I've dealt with a lot of patients like you. And I've been able to help every last one. Well, with the exception of one. A girl--your age, her name was Addie. She was depressed; cut herself, attempted suicide twice. I thought--I was so sure…so sure that I had helped her…that she was better."

Dr. Edith paused, and for once, Hattie had no witty remark.

"She surprised me. Her sister found her--dead, in a bathtub. It was all so cliché. She'd slit her wrists, and Hattie, she was a fantastic girl. And so are you. I don't want you to end up like her."

"You see, Doctor, I'm not like your special patient."

Dr. Edith jumped off the bed, and threw her hands up in the air in a comical gesture of exasperation.

"Hattie!"

"Stop yelling. I have a headache."

Hattie and Dr. Edith locked eyes for a moment, and Hattie felt as if time had slowed. She felt lightheaded, but coherent enough to ask the question that was burning in the back of her mine;

"Where's Dr. Amonta?"

Dr. Edith seemed taken aback. Hattie had sat up, head cocked to one side, expression oh-so adorably inquisitive; and Dr. Edith had to admit it, the girl was fucking cute. Sexy, even, but Dr. Edith knew better than to lust over patients. But Hattie was sexy in an odd, fucked-up kind of way.

Her face was round, and her hair was elaborately wavy and honey-colored. Her eyes were cat-like slits--icy, violently blue, and her lips; pale pink and perfectly full. And she was tall, not supermodel thin, but lean enough…

"Dr. Edith, where is Dr. Amonta?"

Dr. Edith snapped back to reality; "She had to go out of town. Dr. Kyrria is taking over for her. She's great, really, she--"

"Excuse me, did you say Dr. Kyrria?"

"Yes, she's the Prime Minister's wife--"

"She's a doctor?!"

"Yes, did Char not--"

"You call him Char?!"

"Everyone calls him Char--"

"He never let me call him Char!"

Suddenly, Hattie was out of bed, skirt and blouse wrinkled and slightly bloodied. "Hattie, sit down. Dr. Kyrria already wants to keep you for a few nights for evaluation; don't make things worse for yourself."

Evaluation?

"Evaluation? What are you--?"

"This is your second suicide attempt. Your mother may have gotten away with discharging you earlier last time, but not this time. Dr. Kyrria is very adamant about keeping you here for a while."

Unbelievable….

"Hattie, you need to open up to me. I can't help you unless you talk to me. I thought we were making progress, but apparently not. Your mother found two empty bottles of vodka under your bed this morning. Would you like to explain that?"

Hattie felt cornered again.

"I-I-I was just--"

"For the love of God, Hattie, please don't say that you were thirsty!"

"I needed--"

"You NEEDED another ADDICTION! Hattie, alcohol isn't--"

"It's the answer? I know! But I am not my father, alright! He fucked up! I won't--"

"Hattie, this is ridiculous!"

"Just get the fuck out of here, Dr. Edith." Hattie sneered her name, blue eyes alight with such loathing and revulsion that Dr. Edith winced.

"Hattie," she sat down on the bed beside her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Talk to me. Please."

And the look Hattie gave her was beyond desperate. It was the look of someone who had completely lost their shit.

What happened next, Dr. Edith had no psychiatric evaluation for.

Hattie's lips were on hers, hungry, eager, and so many other fucking adjectives that shouldn't have been used in the situation…

But Dr. Edith knew why she was doing this; it was clear now, she wanted Ella, she needed Ella, she was in love with Ella…but Ella didn't feel anything for her. She was only using Blossom and Delicia and Stephen and now Dr. Edith herself…

"Hattie, no--" she placed her hands on the younger girl's shoulders, pushing her away--

But Hattie wasn't having any of that.

"You want to help me? Fuck me, then. I need another--:

"Another hit? Hattie, no!" Dr. Edith pushed Hattie away causing her to fall back onto the bed, the look on her face was defeated; she looked as if she were ready to cry.

She buried her face in the pillow, and dry sobs escaped her.

"Hattie, you want Ella…don't you?"

"Y-yes…"

"You love her, don't you?"

"But she loathes me!"

"BUT DO YOU LOVE HER?!" She hadn't meant to shout; she just wanted a fucking straight answer!

"YES! AND DO YOU KNOW HOW PATHETIC THAT MAKES ME FEEL? She's my stepsister! And she already has Char! She hates me!"

Dr. Edith knew then how difficult treating Hattie would be, confessions or not.


	15. Chapter 15

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

There was a bad taste in her mouth. Was it the taste of rejection? Hattie sure as hell hoped not. If it was, then rejection tasted like expired milk.

"Hattie?"

It was Dr. Kyrria; she poked her head into Hattie's room, smiling brightly, as if fucking world peace had suddenly kicked it.

"Yes?"

"You have a visitor!"

"Who?"

"Your stepsister, Ella!"

Hattie felt her blood run cold.

"S-send her in." She felt herself blanch. Dr. Kyrria's face disappeared, and Ella's took its place, porcelain and pristine, beautiful and yet so fucking unattainable.

"Good morning, Ella." Hattie smirked as pleasantly as possible, as if a smirk could portray any sort of pleasantry.

"Morning, Hattie."

"Why don't you come in? I'm not…sick." Her tone turned suddenly bitter, and Ella shuddered, but walked into the room, closing, and locking the door behind her, even going as far as to draw the curtains.

"Why all the privacy?"

But Ella didn't answer. Rather, she sauntered towards Hattie's bed, and perched herself on the end of it, staring at her stepsister expectantly.

"Olive is bringing you pajamas; I know you don't like hospital gowns--"

"Oh, I know! But who does, really?"

"And it must be uncomfortable, sleeping in your clothes…"

"Quite. Now, Ella, why are you here so…early? Shouldn't you be in school? I get a few weeks off." Hattie smiled; smugly, crossing her arms, and lifting her head, sticking her nose up in the air.

"Hattie! You're in the hospital! That hardly sounds like a week off."

"It is, for me. After all, now I don't have to see Char for a whole week." Again, she smiled, nose still in the air.

"I thought he told you not to call him that?"

"Fuck that," Hattie scoffed, smirking wickedly.

Ella sighed, letting her head fall back.

"You drive me up the wall, Hattie." Ella stated, her hand reaching across the bed to rest on Hattie's thigh.

"Ella--?"

Ella said nothing. Her hand traveled up Hattie's skirt, fingers grazing the insides of her thighs…

Hattie couldn't fucking believe it.

Was Ella really, truly here? Sitting in Hattie's hospital bed, hand up her skirt….

It couldn't be.

Oh, but it was.

Ella was on top of her now, straddling her hips, and before Hattie knew it, their lips met.

"Why--?"

But Ella wasn't offering her any answers.

Ella's lips trailed hot kisses down Hattie's neck, her teeth grazing the flesh, causing Hattie to arch her back and moan. She had no idea what the fuck was going on, but who shakes a stick and no-strings-attached sex? Exactly. Ella's fingers grasped the waistband of Hattie's skirt, and pulled it down her hips, discarding it, not caring if anyone walked in on them, apparently. Hattie bucked her hips; foreplay was just not her thing. But Ella seemed to be in the mood for teasing; she pulled Hattie up, and pulled her shirt off, folding it neatly, and laying it on top of the skirt.

"Ella--?"

"Just shut up."

And then Ella's lips were on hers again.


	16. Chapter 16

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

Hattie was 99.9 percent sure that she was dreaming.

For one, she was no longer clad in her skirt and blouse; no, now she had on her favorite pajamas; the black yoga pants (that made her ass look fantastic) and the red tank top. Second, (and this made her absolutely positive that she was dreaming) was the sound of Ella breathing deeply next to her. She was lying on her back, arms falling off the bed, blanket off her. Hattie did a double-take; seriously?

"Ella!" she hissed, jabbing the younger girl in the ribs with her elbow.

"Own! Hey!"

"Are you--why are you--?"

"Well, you didn't want to stay in a hospital alone, did you? I mean, if you'd prefer…I can just leave…"

"No! No, it's not… I mean…"

"You're still half-asleep, aren't you?"

"Yes…"

"Why don't you go back to sleep? I have to leave now, anyway, get home and shower…you have a private room, you know; shower, bathroom, all over there--" Ella pointed to a door in the corner of the room.

"The best room money can buy," Ella said, shaking her head.

"Can't you just…use the shower here?"

"Patients only."

"Shit."

Ella chuckled, and slid out of the bed, adjusting the blanket back on Hattie.

"I'll stop by again later; drop off some more of your things."

Hattie just watched her gather her things, mouth agape.

"Stop staring, it's rude." Ella teased, rolling her eyes at her stepsister, and leaving.

As soon as Ella left, Dr. Edith entered.

"Morning, Hattie," she said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Oh, God, you're cheery again."

Dr. Edith's smile dropped like a bomb; "No, I'm not really, it's just an affectation." She sat down on the bed beside Hattie.

"Hattie, we really need to talk."

The urgent, dark tone of her voice made Hattie's blood run cold.

"About…what?"

"Well, you, of course, and your family, and how I'm going to diagnose you."

"Diagnose?!"

"First things first; let's talk about your father."

"Ugh, he's dead; can't we just let it be?"

"Nope. Sorry. Can't do that, Hattie. Now, I talked to Olive--"

"You talked to Olive? And you got somewhere? Wow."

Dr. Edith rolled her eyes, and took a deep breathe, poised to launch into a presumably lengthy explanation.

"I asked your sister what your father was like. And you know, I expected her to launch into tale after tale of how wonderful he was to her. But she said different."

"Oh?"

"Yes. She said that your father was…very cold towards her. Would you…care to explain why she said this?"

Hattie wanted nothing more than to vomit.

But she simply swallowed convulsively, and leaned forward; Dr. Edith leaned forward as well, and Hattie began:

"Olive is very oblivious, okay? You see, my father was a businessman. He was gone constantly, and whenever he was home, he just spent his time locked in his study. Whenever he had important colleagues over to dinner, however, he always suffocated Mama and I with affection. And I loved it; I was a social butterfly, so to speak, and so I always impressed. But Olive? No, Olive was never one for social gatherings."

Hattie paused, cocked her head to side, and looked at Dr. Edith, and the doctor nodded, signaling for her to continue.

"I thought, for the longest time, that I was the favorite. First born, adorable, social…I was so happy, give or take some naivety here and there. But--and this is the tear-jerker, Dr. Edith--I made the cliché mistake of listening in on one of his phone calls. See? It sounds like a fucking Lifetime movie, doesn't it?"

Dr. Edith chuckled. Hattie continued:

"He said that I…that Mama and I…that we…he said that he wished I was more like Olive. Kind, he said, selfless, he said. Selfless my ass! Olive is just as power-hungry and self-centered as Mama and I; Papa always thought of Mama and I as the villains. He saw him and Olive as the victims. He always said that Mama tied him down, that as soon as she had me, his life was fucked. And then Olive came, and he felt that Olive was neglected emotionally, which was bullshit."

Dr. Edith nodded, then, "So you're saying that your father was two-faced? That he loved you to your face, and then hated you behind your back? Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes."

"And what about when he was drunk? Can you tell me more about that?"

"He didn't start drinking at home until I was thirteen. He…he said things…to Mama and I…and he talked about taking Olive away…leaving us, taking his little princess."

Hattie trailed off, taking several deep breaths to calm herself. Dr. Edith knew that Hattie was the kind of person who never cried in the presence of another. She didn't feel the need to press her anymore.

"Well, Hattie, like I said, I need to discuss how I'm going to diagnose you."

Hattie didn't respond.

"From what I've seen, you seem to display behaviors in relation to NPD."

"NPD?"

"Narcissistic Personality Disorder."

"Is that--?"

"I can't treat it. It's…just a series of personality traits. But it's important for me to include that on your chart. It could complicate things. Now, I'm still undecided on whether or not you just have depression, or something worse."

Hattie did not like the sound of something worse.

"Your mother has already scheduled another round of appointments with me; they'll start as soon as you're discharged."

Hattie nodded, then;

"Did you…you talked to Ella, didn't you?"

Dr. Edith looked taken aback. She fiddled with her glasses, and crossed and uncrossed her legs. Her posture reminded Hattie of a nervous cat.

"I…I did."

"What did you tell her? That she was my trigger? Oh, it all makes sense now."

"What are you--?"

"Dr. Edith, I would like some time alone to take a shower, and to rest. Please tell a nurse to send some food up here at twelve o'clock sharp. I'll see you next week, doctor."


	17. Chapter 17

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

Hattie was not looking forward to going home. What with her mother's embarrassment over the incident, and Ella's presence, Hattie assumed that she would go insane within the first day of being back. Run-on sentences aside, Hattie was determined to numb her feelings for Ella using any means necessary. Grey Goose or a blade to her flesh, she didn't care; anything would do. She figured, however, that she would have to find cleverer places for her empty bottles. The closet? No, who's to say her mother wouldn't look there? She could always do her best to dispose of them in a garbage bag; but what if her mother reached new levels of snoopiness, and decided to rifle through her trash? It certainly wouldn't surprise her.

"Hattie?"

Hattie looked up from her suitcase; she had just finished organizing her panties in accordance to color and style.

Blossom stood in the doorway, looking worried and all-together quite anxious.

Why was she always so fucking….annoying?

"Oh, hello, Blossom."

"Hattie!" Blossom rushed at her, throwing her arms around her neck, and kissing her. Hattie pushed her away, holding her firmly by the shoulders; she had a height advantage over her, that was for sure.

"Blossom--"

"Where were you? Why--why are you in the hospital? Delicia said that you tried to kill yourself! I don't believe her, Hattie, please tell me what happened--"

"Blossom! Not now. I have to go home. I'll see you at school."

"But, Hattie!" Blossom grasped Hattie's arm, pulling her towards her. Hattie could have resisted the grasp, but she honestly didn't feel like fighting with Blossom, especially since she was being faced with some very difficult decisions.

"Your wrists…your arms…" Hattie was wearing short-sleeves. Blossom traced the scars on her arm with her fingertips; her nails slid over the bandages on her wrists…

"Why--?"

"Blossom! Go away. I'm going home. I don't have time to talk."

And of course, Blossom looked so fucking wounded; like Hattie had just stabbed in her the chest and pulled out her heart with her bare hands.

"Blossom, you know how I feel about you."

"But I--"

"We're fuck buddies. How many times do I have to tell you that? Now, please just go. I have to finish packing."

Blossom sputtered; apparently unable to accept the obvious.

"Hattie--?"

Ella was at the door, her head poking into the room, strands of black hair falling into her eyes.

"Yes, Ella-dear?" The term of endearment rolled off her tongue so easily; and once again, Blossom looked so fucking jilted. Because yes, the inflection that Hattie's voice took on when she said Ella's name was anything but chaste…Hattie could almost hear the negative, scandalous thoughts playing in Blossom's head.

"Are you…ready to go? I'm taking you home."

Blossom seethed.

"Yes, I'm ready. I think…would you like to stop somewhere for breakfast?"

Ella glanced at Blossom; "Sure…"

Blossom took a deep, shuddering breath, and left; storming out of the room as if Hattie had said her dress was the ugliest piece of shit she had ever seen.

"She'll be back; I garuntee it."

Ella looked uneasy.

"Ella, really. She'll be fine, we've done this before."

Ella shifted nervously.

"Ella, do you regret it?"

"Regret…regret what?"

"What happened Tuesday."

Ella sighed, and crossed her arms, looking down at her shoes; black Converse shoes.

"Ella! Dr. Edith told me that she told you (this is such a fucking she-said-she-said situation) that you were one of my…triggers."

"She-said-she-said?" Ella smiled weakly, apparently attempting to bypass the uncomfortable subject.

"No, no, don't do that! You're going to answer me; you…you did that out of pity, didn't you?"

"Pity?"

"Oh, please, Eleanor! You and I both know that you would only fuck me if you really felt obligated. And not otherwise."

Ella looked as if Hattie had just bitch-slapped her.

"Hattie--"

"No. Just…just take me home."

"Do you still want to stop for breakfast?"

"No, no I do not want to stop for breakfast."


	18. Chapter 18

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

She felt it again.

Rejection.

It was starting to feel like a fucking plague.

She tasted it; bitter, unforgiving…

She felt it; pulse quickened, nausea set in…

She was so sure…it felt like she was dying…

And then the high wasn't enough anymore, and she made the mistake of sticking a straw into another fucking line…

Inhale.

Not enough.

Again.

More.

Forget.

Let's go all the fucking way.

Was that an entire 8-ball?

Fuck yes.

Do you feel faint?

Motherfucker…

Dizzy?

Mm…

How's your heart?

Oh, god…

I thought so.

Don't make me say that I told you so, Hattie.


	19. Chapter 19

I do not own Ella Enchanted. It belongs to Gail Carson Levine.

\--

Her eyes rolled back into her head; oh, god…the steering wheel pressing into her back wasn't causing her discomfort any longer. It was really an aphrodisiac now. Hattie always had been a bit of a masochist…a sadist, too, but on the inside…it was pain she really wanted…

"Ella…"

The name felt so natural as it rolled off her tongue, so much pleasure…

She was losing herself in it…in the way Ella's tongue felt as it teased her deftly, and the way her arms felt as they wrapped around her waist to support their position.

"Oh, fuck--Ella--!"

There was an explosion then; a tensing of muscles, a tingling that spread to her very core…

"I love you, Ella…"

Ella's nails dug into her hips.

"I love you so much…oh!"

Goddamn her ability to have multiple orgasms!

Her heart began to pound so hard that she was sure that it would burst from her chest.

Ella was so good…

"Oh, Ella…yes…I love you…I always ha--ah! You're amazing…mm…"

Ella pulled away suddenly, and the absence of her mouth at such a crucial time made Hattie whimper pathetically.

"Why did you--?"

"Move. We have to go home."

Ella pushed her away, and Hattie fell haphazardly back onto the passenger's seat.

"Hello?" Hattie nearly snapped when she saw Ella answer her phone, and smile as she said; "Oh, hey, Char!"

"Ella! You--!"

Ella placed a finger to her lips, and began driving again, hitting eighty in a seventy lane.


End file.
